


Sameyel

by alice_pike



Series: Pornathon Entries [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alice_pike/pseuds/alice_pike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Their time apart unravels in front of him, unspools in the space between them; and he digs his fingers into Merlin's hips, pulls Merlin down, drags him closer.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sameyel

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this prompt gif](http://i.imgur.com/injACeD.gif), for the second week of Pornathon.

The heat is heavy in the air and it clings to their skin, making sweat bead in the dip of Arthur's spine, collect in the pool of Merlin's clavicle. 

"It's fucking hot here," Arthur complains, even as he grinds his hips down lazily into Merlin's, the heat making them listless, reluctant to try anything more exerting. The room reeks of sex, sweat-tangy and suffocating.

"Global warming," Merlin reminds him with a smirk, meeting Arthur's thrusts with a twist of his hips. "Also, you're the one who wanted to 'see the world' in the middle of August. Don't blame me."

Arthur doesn't respond to the jibe, just leans down into Merlin's space and nips at Merlin's lips, tracing Merlin's smirk with the wet heat of his tongue. Merlin opens his mouth to Arthur, reaches out, twists his fingers in the silky, sweat-damp hair at the nape of Arthur's neck, keeping him in place. They kiss lazily, languidly, both half hard but content to just rock slowly together, the dull thrum of pleasure humming through them both, as sluggish and ever-present as the heat. 

"You could have warned me," Arthur grumbles when they break apart for air, breath sticky on each other's skin. 

Merlin sighs, or maybe laughs, but it's swallowed almost immediately by the already-saturated air. "Find out on your own," he says, a half-thought, something he's said before and will definitely have to say again. He kisses Arthur, though, just because he can. 

"Let me up," he says after another moment, nudging at Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur deftly flips them, keeping his hands on Merlin's waist, never letting him go. Merlin settles on top of him, Arthur's cock nestled in the cleft of his ass, the air actually cool on his back after so long pressed into the sheets. He drinks in the sight of Arthur in front of him, the feel of Arthur beneath him, revels in the fact that he is _here_ , and can't believe that he has survived this long without him. 

_"Arthur,"_ he says, almost unbidden, and it's more desperate than he meant, conveying something he's never even tried to put into words. He doesn't miss the way Arthur's eyes darken at his tone, the sudden snap of Arthur's hips, the way his own body responds in turn. 

He shifts purposefully on top of Arthur, dragging his ass slowly up and down the length of Arthur's cock, and Arthur has to bite his lip to stop from moaning, breath catching in Merlin's throat at the sight. 

"Fuck," Merlin groans, as Arthur grasps at the sheets, at Merlin's thighs, at empty air. "No, touch me," he tells Arthur, and Arthur is quick to obey. He reaches for him, presses his fingers into Merlin's skin, nails leaving white half moons in their wake, marking, claiming, _possessing_ Merlin in a way no one ever has, ever will again, and Merlin's back arches like a cat, body straining ever closer to the already suffocating warmth of Arthur's skin, Arthur's touch. 

His hands skate down Merlin's ribs, his fingers catching on each one, and Merlin is skinny—still too skinny—and Arthur can feel the bones under Merlin's skin, the stubborn strength of them, the fossils of Merlin's shape after decades (centuries, _millennia_ ) of existing, of going on, _alone_ —

"Merlin," he rasps into the space between them, so far from empty, heavy with the heat and the staccato rhythm of their breath, with the weight of their distance—not physical, _never_ physical, not anymore, Arthur thinks—and Merlin gasps, "Yes, yes, _Arthur—"_ and their time apart unravels in front of him, unspools in the space between them; and he digs his fingers into Merlin's hips, pulls Merlin down, drags him closer.

Merlin goes with it, pliant in Arthur's hands, and he crashes into Arthur's chest as Arthur surges up to meet him, cock trapped between their bodies, heat and need smothering them both. Arthur's hands are impossibly big pressed into the delicate curve of Merlin's spine, and Merlin comes untouched, just like that, suppressing his shout in the sweaty dip of Arthur's shoulder, teeth dragging on his skin, burning hotter than fire.


End file.
